


Innocent Memories

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-15
Updated: 2007-02-15
Packaged: 2019-01-19 18:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12415203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: When we were eighteen, we went on holiday. It wasn't much, but it was ours, and in a backdrop of building violence, we needed as many memories as possible to hang onto. Oneshot. James PoV





	Innocent Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

 I was planning to finish up the next chapter for "A Day In The Life," but...I went to the beach yesterday and inspiration sprung up on me. ^^; 

It was for a family thing so when we were on the beach, I sat down, plugged the Beatles in (they seem to be cropping up a lot when I write...) and wrote this. I was in Wales, by the way. And the tumbled-down old house by the shore did actually exist. (I want it. I will own it. It has a loft bedroom with a view of the sea for crying out loud!)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Nor do I own the beach we were on in Wales. (I think we were in Twyne or somewhere beginning with T..) And I don't own the house. (Yet.)

\-----

 The only time we went away was about two months before the war fully started. We stayed in a small town in Wales right next to the sea, in a tumbled-down old house. The weather was absolutely awful and, as Lily insisted we take Muggle transport, the car broke down three times, the third time we had to push it a mile and a half to the nearest petrol station. (She was adamant we did things the Muggle way.)

During those two days and nights, I was given the silent treatment five times, we had countless arguments and broke up, then got back together within the same hour. 

And yet, I think back on it as the best holiday I’ve had, as it was the last time we could forget about the rising terror going on in the world. We were young, only eighteen, and believed fully that true love conquered all and good always triumphed over evil. We were, I suppose, a little too over-confident, but that was the Gryffindor recklessness running through our blood.

The most vivid of the memories I have of that weekend, and the fondest, is the Saturday night after one of our infamous spats. Lily shook me awake at an ungodly hour of the early morning, “Come on, James, let’s go down to the beach while there’s no-one there.”

I mumbled incoherently, reached for my glasses, and checked the clock, “Bloody Merlin, Lils, it’s only 5 o’clock!”

“Even better,” came the reply as she swung herself out of bed, padding along the floor to the bathroom next door. Trying to wake myself up, I listened to the creak of the floorboards and the sound of water running. I glanced out of the window; the sky was just taking on the pinkish hue of morning, the sun barely visible over the endless expanse of sea.

Hearing Lily call at me to get up, I grumbled under my breath, causing her head to peer through the open door, “Stop complaining. Get up. _Now_.”

Stretching and thinking of a comment Sirius made about me not surviving the trip, I grabbed the nearest pieces of clothing from where I had discarded them the night before and dressed, ready just as she walked out the bathroom, one hand on her hip, ready to accuse me of not getting up.

I held my arms out wide to indicate otherwise and she rolled her eyes, smiling all the same. Then, grabbing my hand, she dragged me down the four flights of stairs, through the paint-peeled front door, and down the concrete steps to the shoreline.

The beach, as Lily had said, was deserted, the only sounds there being the waves crashing against the shore and the cry of the seagulls as they soared overhead. As soon as we reached the sand she kicked off her shoes and let go of my hand, running full pelt towards the sea, laughing like a small child. 

I stood on the shingles just watching her as she splashed about in the shallow water, completely mesmerised by how her hair, in the early morning light, seemed to have an ethereal glow, brighter than the sun.

My thoughts were broken when she called to me to join her, and I gladly obliged. We ended up soaking wet, a result of a splashing competition we had started and, just as a few people began to appear on the pathway above the beach, jogging or walking their dogs, we collapsed onto the sand, our backs resting against the wooden breakers, just close enough for Lily to let her fingers brush the edge of the water.

I stretched my legs out and gathered her into my lap, laughing when she squealed in indignation. My arms enclosed around her and I rested my head on her shoulder, perfectly contented. Lily rested fully against my chest, her hair tickling my face. We sat like that for a long time, just soaking up the sights and sounds around us.

Lily was the first to break the silence, “It’s like the quiet before the storm, isn’t it?”

My heart saddened, knowing instantly what she was referring to. Shifting and pulling her even closer to me, I answered her, my mouth centimetres away from her ear, “I’m going to marry you, Lils, We’ll get married next year, or next month, or tomorrow if you want, and we’ll get a house, anywhere in the country and we’ll live there, we’ll survive.” 

As I spoke I found I was trying to convince myself as much as her. “We’ll survive,” I repeated, placing a kiss on her cheek and neck, “We’ll have a happy ending.” I felt her sigh and take my hand, entwining the two together, “I know,” she said, turning her head to lock gazes with me; emerald green to hazel.

I think we stayed like that for quite a while longer, as the sun was high in the sky by the time we traipsed back to the house, feeling safe in the promises we’d made.

It was only when we were driving home that I’d realised I’d proposed, in a way, and she’d accepted. I made a resolution to marry her before the end of the year and to give her all the things I’d reassured would happen.

As I said before, at eighteen, we believed we could save the world. Even now as our days, I know, are numbered, Lily says that she still believes what I told her that day on the beach, and that, when Harry is a little older, we should take him there.

I wistfully think that it will happen, and we’ll live to see our son take his own love down to those shores. But, perhaps it’s my Gryffindor blood wearing thin, I think that that particular beach on that particular early morning day will only ever rest in our memories, and never bear our sets of footprints again. 

\----

Oh, and on the way back? Our car _did_ break down. Freakeh. My dad had to come out and fix it. xD


End file.
